The Real Patria
by ChildrenoftheBarricade
Summary: After the barricades, gang warfare is running riot in Paris. Enjolras knows he has to restore order before the elections. When a chance meeting leads him to discovering the physical embodiment of his country, he realises that he has to come to terms the fact that his ideal Patria does not exist, and he'll have to make do with Francis Bonnefoy. Rating for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I will get around to finishing AUF and S-JR, but this idea will not go away. It's an idea that me and my sister made up, to see how many fandoms we could squash into one fic (or series). First parts are about Enjolras (Les Mis) and Francis Bonnefoy (Hetalia). I own nothing accept my OCs. This should not be taken seriously, and was written because my caffeine-and-sugar-addled brain is venting everything. Will be slash/yaoi/whatever you want to call it, and probably violence and bad language will be involved. AU**.

**August 1832, Paris.**

Enjolras gave a sigh as Combeferre poked and prodded at his wound again. "It's not that bad. My main worry is what to do about the gangs."

Then it was Combeferre who sighed. The police had refused to work since the revolution. With the corrupt government pushing the elections back for two months, Paris had fallen prey to the justice of three criminal gangs. "Oh, you can deal with two out of three of them, no problem. If you're running off with either, wait until this heals. It's not every day that you get shot off a barricade."

He'd tensed when Combeferre suggested running off. "I turned them both down. I don't agree with it." White bandages stark against his pale skin, Enjolras settled back against the pillows, knowing Combeferre was about to tell him to.

Combeferre glared at him, looking disappointed with his friend for the first time in an age. "I thought you were more tolerant than this."

"Tolerant? What, you thought I meant I didn't agree with a man falling in love with another? It's not that. I really don't mind, it's a harmless vice. I just don't agree with Courfeyrac's thoughts about such things. No, that's not right either. Oh, I don't know. I'm too tired to think properly. I just know I will not sleep with either Etienne or Alexei to get them to stop."

"Fair enough. Go to sleep, then. Goodnight." His bright blue eyes shut, and he wriggled into a more comfortable position.

"'Night." Leaving his friend to sleep, Combeferre considered the situation. The three gangs were simple enough to understand.

First of all, Etienne Prouvaire. Jehan's estranged older brother. He'd founded Les Amis, and had been completely besotted with his young deputy. He'd ignored his brother, but Jehan had been a little scared of his brother, and avoided him whenever possible. He'd turned criminal to get revenge when he felt Enjolras had been stolen from him.

The second gang was Patron-Minette. The most notorious, but the easiest to catch. They'd joined in the war to get rid of competition. The lower ranks of Etienne and Alexei's gang were little more than petty thieves, so the leaders of Patron-Minette decided they wanted in. The current leader had left this job to his subordinates, and was trying to hunt down the man who'd almost killed him on June 6th - Enjolras. If the other two had anything to do with it, Le Cabuc or whatever his name was, would never find his would be killer.

Third and final was Alexei Orseille. He was the youngest of four children, his three brothers equally ruthless criminals. Six years ago, when the first members of the ABC society had arrived in Paris, he'd caught sight of Enjolras. He'd followed around the pretty young blonde, having completely fallen for him. Enjolras, still chaste, had shared nothing more than a few kisses with the criminal. In the end, Etienne had caught the two together and blamed Alexei for seducing him. Now Alexei was determined to defeat Etienne and keep Enjolras for his own.

Neither had come to see him since June 6th. Jehan had lamented that his brother hadn't seen his years of planning come to fruition, but it was a passing thought, and he conceeded that the victory belonged to Enjolras.

And he'd barely survived to see it. If only he'd reloaded his carbine, he'd have taken out that artillery sergeant. The man would never have noticed him, his golden hair a beacon, alerting the guards to exactly where the leader was. But the regime had let their guard down, thinking the leader dead. The revolutionaries had attacked, and the army had soon surrendered.

Now, the elections were coming up. Bahorel, the link to outside societies and Courfeyrac, the heart of the people, said that Enjolras was favourite to win. Maybe then he could deal with the three gangs. For now, even if just for a night, he could sleep in peace.

Alexei sat on the chaise lounge, swilling the whiskey around his glass. They'd managed to catch one of Prouvaire's grunts, but he hadn't told them anything. If they didn't get information soon, he might have to turn to the younger Prouvaire brother. No, that wouldn't work. Etienne cared nothing for Jean. The only person Prouvaire would come for is the one person he couldn't find.

"Are you alright?" A voice disturbed his thoughts. He looked up to see his assistant, twenty five year old Francis Bonnefoy.

"Oh, I suppose. I just wish that goddamned doctor would let his little patient come out and play. That little boy is mine."

"I know the feeling," Francis mumbled, but Alexei ignored him.

"My little Valentin, my precious little one. He chose me, but bloody Etienne took him. Now he's gone too, and Valentin's doctor keeps him locked away. You know, you look a little bit like him." He gently touched Francis's cheek, but then shook his head and pulled away.

"But you're not him. There's just something about him. I mean, I'm not exactly the most innocent, virginal boy, but I felt like it when he kissed me. He's innocent. God, he's beautiful, intelligent, brave, brilliant. A hero. He should be mine. He will be mine."

Francis had heard his employer rant about Valentin for a long time. He was used to it. With a shock of guilt, he realised he'd been no better in his desperation to get Lovino Vargas. No. Surely he couldn't have been so obsessed. But now, Spain had Romano. Francis had come to accept that. After all, he had a new target. He wasn't stealing from any other nation. The boy was technically his by right.

He wondered if his friends in the Bad Touch Trio had gotten sick of him chasing after Romano so desperately. He wouldn't have minded Feliciano, but the boy was far too immature. Perhaps when he'd finished chasing after his young hero, he could introduce him to Italy. After all, he wasn't that dissimilar from his little brother. They were both passionate, both loved art, music fine food and wine.

No, his hero was different. Art and wine weren't his thing.

Ah, it didn't matter. He had to find the boy first, and that meant tagging along with one of his less impressive citizens. Still, he'd put up with Arthur for centuries, so he could deal with this.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I've been looking over my plans, and this story may never end. Have to find out what the longest fic on FF is and see if I can beat the record. Current fandoms to be involved are Les Mis and Hetalia, Fullmetal Alchemist, Doctor Who, Phantom of the Opera, and bits of Inkheart trilogy and His Dark Materials trilogy for the little sis. If anyone reading this wants a fandom included, review or PM me. I will study and include it. **

Enjolras was drifting around the apartment, bored. Combeferre had made him swear to stay at home. He was pacing up and down, thankful that his legs hadn't been damaged. He'd almost taken a bullet to his heart, but it had hit his breastbone. He'd been told that he'd looked dead, shirt soaked with blood, a wound on his chest. His fall from the barricade had shattered his right wrist, but luckily not enough to need surgery. But now, he couldn't even write to distract himself.

Combeferre had argued against that. "Enjolras, that's a lot of nonsense. You can write with both hands, you've always been abe to."

"I haven't written with my left hand since childhood. It's bad practice to write with my left, it's supposedly associated with the devil. There's enough rumors about me going around without this on top."

"Well that explains Jehan. Of course our resident pagan is left handed." The conversation had ended at that, and Enjolras had been left alone. He paced up and down. He was frustrated, bored and alone. Suddenly, someone knocked on the door.

"Valentin? Are you in there?" It was Alexei's voice. "Answer the door please." Alexei and Etienne had called round often since they'd discovered Enjolras was hurt. Combeferre had answered the door before Enjolras could, and told them to leave. He'd be annoyed if he found out that Enjolras had been with Alexei, but Enjolras was too bored to care. He pulled open the door.

Alexei smiled at him. "It's you. I thought it would be that doctor again. Ah, I've missed you. He wouldn't tell me anything except that you were hurt. What happened? Can we come in?"

"We?"

"My apologies." He stood aside to reveal his assistant. "This is Francis. He's a friend of mine. So can we?" With a sigh, Enjolras let the two men in. Alexei threw his arms around the boy. "I'll introduce you properly. Valen, meet Francis Bonnefoy, my personal assistant. He used to work for my brother, but he came to me a few weeks ago."

"Which brother?"

"Henri, the eldest. Francis, this is Valentin Enjolras. I really don't think I need to explain who this is. So, what happened to you?"

"I got shot. Combeferre means well but he worries. I'm fine."

"I tried to come and see you."

"I know. Are you planning on going anywhere? I need to get out of here." Alexei smiled, putting an arm around the boy's shoulder.

"There's my little rebel. Come on, we'll take you out somewhere. I suppose that you want to go somewhere where your friends won't see you."

"I really don't care. I'm not a child and Combeferre is not my father. I can see my friends."

"Alright then. I'll let you choose where we go. So, anywhere in mind?"

"We'll go to the Cafe Musain."

"Very well, little one. Your wish is my command." Francis watched Alexei with a little confusion. The hardened criminal who could have a man killed with a few words went to pieces around the young blond. Francis had never seen any of the Orseille brothers so tender around anyone. But then again, he knew this wasn't just any ordinary boy.

A few of the Amis were gathered in the cafe, but none commented on Enjolras's choice of companions. They knew Combeferre would react badly, but Enjolras was the leader, not Combeferre. Courfeyrac slid into the spare seat at the table. He smiled at the three of them.

"So, Valen, I know Alexei, but who's your other friend?"

"Courfeyrac, this is Francis Bonnefoy, he's a friend of Alexei's."

"I take it Julien doesn't know you're here?"

"He's at classes." Enjolras scowled. He was sick of people assuming that Combeferre had ultimate power over him.

"I guessed. Knowing him, he'd tie you to the bed if he thought you were running off with Alexei."

Francis suppressed a laugh. "There is no way on earth you could have made that sound more suggestive." Courfeyrac smiled.

"I like you. So, Alexei, what brings you here? I thought Julien was quite clear in his warnings. I'm sure the words 'come anywhere near Valentin again and I'll go to the police, you perverted stalker' came out of his mouth."

"When was this?" Enjolras asked.

"Round about the middle of June," Alexei admitted. "Apparently you were unconcious. In answer to your question, Gabriel, I was worried about Valen. I actually came to make a proposal."

Courfeyrac laughed. "I'm afraid marrying him is illegal right now. You'll have to wait until he gets elected and passes some laws."Alexei raised an eyebrow.

"I meant, I wanted to make him an offer. I'm worried about you, Valentin. You got hurt, and you've still got Prouvaire and those Patron-Minette thugs after you. I don't think I'm welcome to watch over you, so I was hoping you'd allow Francis to look after you."

"I'm sorry? No. That wouldn't be fair on Francis."

"Relax, little one, we've worked it out. I haven't enslaved him or anything like that. I'll make it worth his while. Think of him as your hired guard. Please, Valen, trust me." Enjolras glanced over at Francis, who nodded at him.

"It's fine by me."

"Alright. I can't be bothered arguing when there are more important things to debate on. But really, Alexei, I don't babysitting."

"Well, just let him keep you company when that doctor's got you locked up." The door opened, and Courfeyrac spluttered with laughter.

"Speak of the devil. Afternoon, Combeferre. I thought you were in class."

"I was. I went back to the apartment and Enjolras wasn't there. I guessed he'd come here." Enjolras sighed, putting his head down on the table in frustration. Combeferre put a hand on his shoulder in apology.

"I know it annoys you, but it's all in your best interests. It's in my job to look after you. And speaking of which, what the hell are you doing here, Orseille?"

"Liberating a young man from oppression."

"What?"

"I felt Valentin had been unjustly imprisoned, so I freed him from your tyrannical rule."

"Get out." Alexei casually walked out, calling out a goodbye to Francis and Enjolras. Francis stayed where he was, trying to see what he was up against. Combeferre sat in Alexei's vacated seat, scarcely noticing the newcomer. He gently touched Enjolras's hair, but the blonde ignored him. Courfeyrac, trying to keep the peace, tried to settle his friend's irritation.

"'Ferre, we know you worry, but you don't need to. You care about Enjolras, but we all do, and we'll look after him just as well as you. You don't have to entirely take the burden of Enjolras's welfare. I'm sure he can handle it himself, and if not, we can help."

"That my be true, but nor did Enjolras have to take the entire burden of Patria's needs, a much less grateful burden. I don't care for Enjolras because I have to, but because I think it's right." Enjolras groaned.

"I'm leaving. Francis, if you come, I'll show you our apartment, since I assume you'll be staying with us." Francis followed obediently, still observing, not ready to get involved. He could feel the cold anger radiating from his target. When they got back to the apartment, Francis could bear it no longer. He had to break the tension, even if it made him sound insane.

"Your friend's wrong, you know. Patria isn't ungrateful for your efforts."

"Oh, really? Why do you say that?"

"Because, technically... I am Patria."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I haven't updated this as often as I should :-( This is my last update for two and a half weeks due to exams. **

**If anyone cares, the novel mentioned in this chapter is **_**Wintersmith**_** by Terry Pratchett. Also, if my figures are wrong, please don't kill me. My research for fics has not been going well.**

Enjolras laughed a little, a disbelieving snort. "I beg your pardon?"

"I mean it. Alright, not Patria exactly, but the closest you'll ever get. I'm a physical representation of France."

He raised an eyebrow, sinking into a chair. He put his broken wrist on the table, intently studying the bandages as he felt Francis's intense scrutiny. "And if I choose to believe this ridiculous story? Do you have any proof?"

"The gun wasn't broken. Well, it was, but you deliberately broke it."

"I'm sorry?"

"This is complicated. Remember the murderer on the barricades? You had the gun at his head but you didn't kill him. You told everyone the gun hadn't worked, that it hadn't fired. Even started to believe it yourself. But it was a lie. You did something to the pistol so it wouldn't fire, because you didn't have the nerve to kill him."

"Fair enough. Continue." Francis realised that he was taking this awfully calmly.

"Imagine if you'd killed the murderer. That pistol still had useable ammunition when you broke it, and that extra unused shot or two would have changed everything. It meant you woudn't have had to reload when facing the artillery sergeant. You would have killed him and he never would have shot you. Your friends would never have taken that opportunity for a last push, and the revolution would have fallen. The death of the artillery sergeant gave the soldiers a steadfast reason to execute you. As it stands, you succeeded, and you singlehandedly changed almost two centuries of the future so far by showing just one man mercy."

"It wasn't mercy. I was a coward."

"Many a man became a hero because he was too afraid to run." Enjolras cast Francis a strange look, and he shook his head. "That novel hasn't been written yet. Never mind."

"So if you really are the embodiment of France, what on Earth do you want with me?"

"You're not exactly anonymous anymore. You're my little hero. The first one I've had since Jeanne. Firstly, I will not let that mistake happen again. If Arthur comes anywhere near you, I'm declaring war. Secondly, for various reasons which includes but is certainly not limited to your popularity throughout the entire country, I genuinely can't help being madly in love with you. Thirdly, you managed to completely, entirely change decades and may or may not have just prevented two massive wars that would have killed millions."

Confused by the first comment and ignoring the second, Enjolras targeted the third. "What do you mean by that?"

"For a start, I have seen about a hundred and eighty years more than this. I had to pull a lot of strings to be allowed to travel back in time to see you. The reason is as such. I'm sure you and your friends have had the free will versus destiny debate?"

"Of course."

"Well, up until now, we nations knew the latter to be true. Decisions and choices are decided well in advance. Until you. It may seem inconsequential to you, but you changed everything. It's 1832, correct?"

"Yes."

"Right. During the next hundred and fifteen years, there will be two world wars. The second world war killed around seventy million people. One of the biggest contributing factors was the loss of the first world war, which killed around sixteen million people. An important cause of this was an argument over territory between my government and Gilbert's. Or was it Ludwig by then? Anyway, you've given me a republic a decade and a half early. You could have changed everything, because the government would be different. Germany might never have been formed. Austria would have had a small war with Serbia, and maybe Russia, but that's all."

"I cannot be the only human being in millenia of history to have free will."

"But you are, _mon cher_, one of a kind."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. All of this was so surreal. He should just walk out, dismiss Francis as insane, but what he was saying made a strange kind of sense. "So, what happens now? If I really am your hero, what do I do next?"

"You? Not much. Just wait until you win the elections."

"I don't know that I'm going to."

"I do. But there's trouble around, as I'm sure you're aware. Since you've rewritten time, you're special, and there's people after you, who aren't necessarily as human as they appear. It's my job to keep you safe from that!"

"Not human. The people after me, would they happen to be Alexei and Etienne?"

"More or less. I don't know who they really are, but they're not having you." He gave a slight smile. "I guess I deserve this. I kind of know how Antonio felt when me and Sadiq were after his little Lovino." The smile slipped, and Francis sighed. "I haven't seen him in years, and Gilbert spends all day in his brother's basement playing video games."

Enjolras gave a groan of frustration. "You might be able to see the future but I can't. I have no idea what you're talking about. Who are all these people?" Francis tried to remember everyone he'd mentioned. At a world meeting, people would know exactly who he was talking about. Why on earth had he expected his little one to?

"Well, first of all, Ludwig and Gilbert are brothers. That doesn't mean anything, as blood relationships don't really exist to us. Gilbert is Prussia, one of my closest friends in a time long since passed. In about forty years, he'll have a little brother, Germany, by unifying all the German states. I suppose he's sort of my little brother, since there's some of my land involved there. Gilbert won it in a bet."

"Antonio, Sadiq and Lovino?"

"Antonio is Spain. A long time ago, Antonio, Gilbert and I were known as the Bad Touch Trio. Inseparable. But Antonio and I started fighting and Gilbert wouldn't take sides."

"What did you fight over?" Enjolras had given up on doubting. He'd learnt how to recognise a liar, and Francis was exhibiting none of the signs. And even if he was a madman, it was an entertaining story.

"Roderich - that's Austria - had power over Italy. Italy was two parts then; Romano in the south and Veneziano in the north. They're twins, and their human names are Lovino and Feliciano Vargas. Austria didn't want Lovi and dumped him on Spain. Spain didn't want him either, and tried to swap him for Feli. I offered to take care of him, but Spain got offended."

"Be reasonable. People don't get offended for no reason."

"Well, one summer, Romano went home for a while. I ran into him, argued, he ran off and bumped into Sadiq, Turkey, who was trying to expand his empire. Spain rescued Romano, but he blamed me. We've been arguing ever since."

Enjolras gave a sigh. This man reminded him so much of Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac would always hide some details, either due to shame - unlikely - or was worried about how his old friend would react. He knew Francis was the same right now. "And what else?"

Francis had the sudden impression of his childhood, standing before Grandpa Rome with Spain and the twins. He'd done something wrong and was being rebuked, his grandfather demanding the full story, and Francis reluctantly telling him what he'd done. He hadn't felt like this in centuries. Nevertheless, it had the same effect.

"Alright! Little Lovi was adorable. I'd never have abandoned him or tried to trade him. I made him an offer. I might have been a little... forceful. I had no idea that him and Spain were together. Now I'm stuck with the likes of _Angleterre _and America. And Spain..."

Something suddenly seemed to occur to the nation, and he let out a rapid stream of cursing that Enjolras could barely keep up with. When it had run its course, Enjolras didn't say a word, merely raising his eyebrow in question.

"I thought he looked familiar. God, I should have known. Antonio, he's about so high, brown hair, green eyes. A bit tanned. Sound familiar?"

"It sounds like Alexei."

"How the _baise _has he been hiding from me? How did he manage to convince the world he has three brothers? He must have known it was me all along, and never said a word, and then had the nerve to come after you? Goddammit! Wait here. I'm going to kill that bloody pirate."

Rolling his eyes as Francis stormed out, Enjolras went to his armchair by the fireplace. It had been one hell of a weird day. Perhaps Francis would come back, dragging - Antonio? Alexei? - behind him, and perhaps not. Either way, he was going to enjoy the peace while they were gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This story's getting harder to write, because I have slipped into the habit of writing bits and pieces of it, rather than writing in order... Still, I'll make it work. I'm having a coin toss on whether to make Spain or France the bad guy (or maybe I'll surprise myself and pull someone else out of the hat). If I get any fandom details wrong, I'll just claim it's non-canon.**

Francis pushed the door to the apartment open. He could hear Alexei inside and burst in, cursing in every language he could think of. Alexei looked up at him. No, he was definitely Antonio. How had it taken so long to figure that out?

"What are you doing back here?"

"Give it up. I know who you are, Tonio."

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Ring a bell, _Espagne_?" The Spaniard smiled, giving a crooked grin.

"It took you long enough."

"_Bon Dieu, mon ami_. How? No, forget that. Why?" Spain sank back into a chair, glad that he could finally drop the French and slip back into his native language. He laughed at the other nation, completely ignoring the fact that he was trespassing in France's territory, and therefore at his old friend's mercy.

"Easy. As to the how, Arthur owed me a few favours. One spell to make myself unnoticed, and another to get here. And the why, isn't it obvious, _mi amigo_? I've finally come for revenge."

"Revenge for what?"

"Me, you and Gilbert, we have a reputation to uphold. If I let your constant attempts on Romano go unpunished, then what does that say about me? It's now my personal aim to ruin any attempt at a relationship. Not to mention, I'm on a mission. They expect me to bring your little golden boy to the next world meeting."

"What? Why?"

"Why do you think? He's just ripped up the entire rule book."

"Forget that. So the last few weeks, when you were talking about him..."

"You sounded the exact same talking about Romano. And we had to deal with it for years." Spain paused, ready to pull out his trump card. "Surprise, surprise, England's spell went wrong. Ended up here a little earlier than I should have. I kept on eye on your precious hero. More so than you. How much do you even know about him?"

"Enough. He's one of my people."

"By blood, maybe. He's nothing like you. Are you sure he's even human?"

Francis frowned. "Of course he is. He's pure blooded French, his famiy tracing back to when _grand-pere_ was still around."

"I've never talents like his on a human. Well done, _amigo_, you've made the others ridiculously jealous. That is, if you can keep him. Maybe he'd be a good friend for Lovi when I'm not there to keep an eye on him."

"As adorable as your little Italian pet is, this all seems a tad extreme."

"I beg to differ. Extreme was trying to steal territory from your closest friend when I trusted you."

"He should have been mine. You all should. I'm the oldest of the four of us. But Germania's brats took Veneziano, you got Romano, and what did I get? Nothing. So I finally have someone of my own, for the first time since Arthur killed Jeanne, and I'm not letting you take him. And what do you mean by talents?"

"_Dios mio_. You should pay more attention to this boy, he'll change everything for you. In answer to your question, _tu rubia poco_ is a prodigy. He can turn his hand to anything, mastering a skill in less than a day. He could speak four languages by the time his friends were barely mastering their own tongue. There's more too him than physical appearance."

Francis smiled, drawing a groan from Spain's lips. "Perhaps, but he is adorable. Just like your little Lovino. Let's play a little game, for old times sakes."

"I'm listening."

"I want your Romano. You want my little hero."

"This isn't just about us two."

"I'm well aware of that. So listen. You and I need to reaffirm our status as world powers. So we divide the world. Alliance systems that will constantly be on the brink of war, but still in peace time. Whoever breaks under pressure first has to surrender their pretty little one to the other."

"And what do we do with the boys for now?"

"It's whoever can keep hold of them."

A knowing silence passed between the pair. Worst friends, best enemies, long past caring what effect their games had on other people. They'd risk everything to keep their little champions safe, but everyone else was collateral damage.

Something suddenly occured to Francis. "'Tonio, if you've been watching my Valentin, who the hell did you take him from? Is there another nation watching him?"

"No. I assumed I just took him away from one of your pathetic little people."

Francis cursed under his breath. "Then the sooner we get my little one to the world meeting, the better. There's something else coming after him."

"Then let's go get him. Let the game begin."

**A/N: **_**Dios mio**_**, this is mad even by my standards. Still, I blame it on the influence of the Bad Touch Trio. My two dream teams are drawn up and ready, Spain versus France, but I still don't know who's going to win! Time travel next (but no Doctor Who yet. Other fandoms will come soon)**

**French: **_**Espagne **_**- Spain. **_**Bon dieu, mon ami**_** - Good God, my friend. **_**Grand-pere **_**- Grandfather**

**Spanish: **_**Mi amigo**_** - My friend. **_**Dios mio**_** - My God. **_**Tu rubia poco**_** - Your little blond.**

**In Hetalia, what defines incest? Is it only when two countries share a surname?**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Working on this mental crossover, but at the same time, planning on working on a few smaller X-overs, featuring Enjolras and Romano, which will not be the pairing in this. Not quite sure what my final pairings will be, but there will be much heartbreak and angst before that. Warnings for Romano's mouth.**

Enjolras sat in front of Spain and France, listening to their garbled, half-true explanation of what was going on. They were at the cafe, and Enjolras had refused to let Combeferre evict them. The cafe was busier than usual. All of the Amis were there, along with Marius's fiance, Eponine, who was talking to a man Enjolras was fairly certain was part of Patron-Minette. A third man had joined the pair of nations, a blonde-haired Brit. Spain was yelling at the Brit in a mixture of Spanish and English that the Englishman was struggling to follow.

"Arthur, you were supposed to make me arrive a little while before Francis! I've been waiting for twelve years for all of this. God, every spell you've attempted in thousands of years has gone wrong, always! You idiot!"

"That's not the issue here," Francis said softly. "We need to get back to our own time and place, and take little Valen with us. I'm assuming you know how to do that, _Angleterre_."

"Of course I do, frog. But will one of you explain what the hell's going on? Who is this kid?"

"Valentin Enjolras. And you are?"

"Arthur Kirkland, the United Kingdom. I see you've met these two idiots. Where's the third member of your stupid trio?"

"Ah, unfortunately it was difficult enough for us two to get here. Gilbert's still in our time. And now you're going to take us back, _non_?"

"If it was up to me, I'd leave you here, frog, but I promised Matthew I'd bring home his precious Papa."

"Leave my Matthieu out of this. Now take us home." Enjolras sighed. It was easier than he'd expected to keep up with a trilingual conversation, but the argument was starting to bore him. Arthur seemed to notice.

"Alright." He pulled a small box of white powder out of his pocket. "Right, when I blow this into the air, it will put you to sleep. When you wake up, we'll be back at home."

"Whose home?" Spain questioned. "I have to get back to my little Lovi." England sighed.

"Fine, we'll make it Madrid. Any other questions? Good." He blew the powder into the air, realising too late how much he'd used. A white fog filled the room, and Francis swore.

"Angleterre, you idiot, it was only supposed to be the four of us!" Before England could do anything, the powder had started to work, and everyone was drifting off to sleep.

They woke up somewhere completely different. Enjolras quickly staggered to his feet, glancing around him. There were numerous strange devices that he knew hadn't been invented in his own time. He really had travelled through time. He looked at the others, the nations barely affected, the humans a little slower to adjust. Instead of four people, England had accidentally transported sixteen. Spain was annoyed.

"_Maldita sea, Inglaterra_! I told you! Everything you do goes wrong! _Dios mio_, how am I going to explain all this to Lovi?"

"I don't care. I've done what I said I'd do, and I now owe you nothing. I got you home. You deal with them." He went to leave, but Spain called after him.

"Wait a minute! I need your advice. Francis and I are having a little bit of a territory debate." His eyes flicked towards Enjolras. "Who would you give the land to?"

"Considering how quickly he loses territory, you could probably protect it more than he could. I may not like you very much, but I must admit, you've kept that Italian out of trouble for the most part. What territory is this?"

"OK, so it's not territory as such. It's that boy. Francis reckons he has the right to him, but that kid's important. Francis can't look after him. Look how little it took before he surrendered Matthew to you. And he's still trying to take my Romano." Arthur nodded, and Spain surpressed a smile. He and Francis had agreed beforehand that whoever could convince the Brit that they'd be the better guardian would be the first to look after both boys.

"Yeah, you're right. If you've got any sense, you won't let the frog near either of them." With that, the Brit departed. France glared at Spain.

"Why did I agree to that? _Angleterre _is biased."

"Well, tough. I keep both. As for the rest of them, they're your problem. You can take them back to Paris with you. Oh, and I'd keep an eye on them, since they're 'your little hero's' closest friends, and almost two centuries out of their comfort zone. I doubt he'd be too happy if one of them ended up injured or dead because you've left them uneducated about the modern world."

"And Valentin himself?" The pair of nations glanced at the young man, who was examining the television, while his friends looked terrified at their complete change of scenery.

"Have you listened to a single word I've said about that boy? He'll learn, much faster than his friends, likely faster than us. I suggest you do a little research into his family tree and work out whether this knack is genetic or not. Oh, and explain to these poor people what's happened."

"Yes, sir," France snarled sarcastically. "Valentin, _mon cher_, will you get all your little friends to come with me and convince them I'm not a murderous psycho? You'll be staying with Antonio and Lovino." Enjolras looked a little bemused, but obeyed, reassuring Combeferre and letting him work on the others. France glared at Antonio again before leaving, a crowd of perplexed youn men and women in his wake. Enjolras regarded Antonio.

"So. Twelve years. I can't believe I never noticed that you didn't age for the past six years I knew you."

"I was hidden by one of England's spells that actually worked. Oh, and I bribed Henri, Luc and David Orseille to pretend I was their brother. And please, don't tell my Romano I spent twelve years chasing after another boy."

"Oi!" came a shout from upstairs in the house. "Tomato bastard, what the fuck is going on down there?" Spain winced.

"Speak of the devil. You'll get used to the cursing, he doesn't mean any of it. Lovi, come down, we have a guest."

"If it's one of your bloody Bad Touch Trio, then I'm not leaving this fucking room."

"Just come down, _mi tomate_." A boy who appeared to be in his late teens appeared at the top of the stairs. He had dark brown hair with one stray curl, and hazel eyes, flecked with gold and green. He looked a little startled to see Valentin. He'd expected a nation, but this was not someone he recognised.

"Lovi, this is Valentin Enjolras. Valentin, Lovino Vargas, Romano..."

"Southern Italy," Enjolras finished. "Francis told me. _Piacere di conoscerti_."

"You're French," Romano said, a note of accusation in his voice. Enjolras nodded.

"Lovi, this is the boy I was telling you about. The one I was sent to get. He'll be staying with us for a while."

"Yeah, whatever." Spain rolled his eyes and allowed the Italian to drift away. Valentin gave a slight smile.

"Something tells me he doesn't like me very much."

"He hates Francis. By association, you're currently a threat. He'll warm up to you soon. I suspect he's also a little jealous. He's sick of being compared to his twin, and when he finally breaks free of that, you come along and distract every nation. And I abandoned him to chase you."

Spain considered for a moment. "I love him to pieces, but I'm definitely glad that I'm not married to him."

"Why?"

"With nations, marriage is different. You unify as one nation, like Austria-Hungary for example. And when nations unify, there mind becomes one. You can see everything in the other's mind."

"And?"

"And that would mean my little Roma would find out I've spent the last six years trying to seduce you. God, if only I'd never met Francis and Gilbert..." Enjolras burst out laughing, unsure of what he'd expected. "Well, little one, make yourself comfortable, and I'd suggest avoiding Lovi for a little while. Tomorrow I'll start explaining what you've missed in the last hundred and eighty years. Goodnight."

Enjolras returned the words and went to find a spare bedroom. He sank into a deep sleep, wondering if he'd wake up and discover that this was all a fevered dream.

**Translations**

**French: **_**Angleterre**_** - England. **_**Non **_**- no. **_**Mon cher **_**- my dear.**

**Spanish: **_**Maldita sea Inglaterra**_** - Damn it, England. **_**Dios mio **_**- my God. **_**Mi tomate **_**- my tomato.**

**Italian: **_**Piacere di conoscerti **_**- Nice to meet you.**

**A/N: Translations for Spanish and Italian are from Google Translate. Hoping to post more soon, but might narrow down the number of fandoms... I'm confused enough with just these two. Well, I'll see. This is the first chapter I've finished this year! Whoo!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: As with all other fics, apologies for the delay. I recently moved house, and I'm just getting everything back in order. Oh, and in case of any confusion, I just read over my last chapter. 'Marius's fiance, Eponine' was supposed to read 'Marius's fiance and Eponine'.**

Enjolras woke in the morning to unfamiliar surroundings. It most definitely hadn't been a dream then. Unsure of how it had happened, he realised he understood more about this modern world than he had yesterday, knew some of these strange inventions. Where had the knowledge come from?

That would have to be worked out later. For now, he needed to discover what evil had been stalking him for as long as the Spaniard. He needed to eliminate the threat and get back to Paris. He'd promised to stand in the presidential elections, and the way Francis spoke, he was in with a pretty good chance.

He slid out of the bedroom, and ran straight into Romano, who cast him a glare. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry?"

Romano rolled his eyes. "Oh, great, you're just as stupid as Spain is. What are you doing here and now? Why could you stay in ancient Paris?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. I had no choice in this."

"How long was that stupid tomato bastard there?"

"I don't know. I found out who he was yesterday." Romano didn't drop his glare, and folded his arms.

"Well, if you're planning on sticking around, you better know this. You can't just swan in here, the sweet, innocent little prodigy that they all say you are, and try and take what is mine. I've spent decades getting out from my brother's shadow and getting my own life. I don't care if Spain likes you, I won't let one of Francis's brats take over."

"I wasn't intending to."

"Then we won't have a problem. Spain may be the most stupid idiot I've ever met, second only to my brother, but he's my idiot." Spain called from downstairs, sounding very cheerful. Ignoring Enjolras, Romano went down into the living room, slumping on the sofa.

"Morning,_ mi tomate_. Have you seen Valentin?"

"The blond brat? He's upstairs." Spain sighed.

"Aw, Lovi, do you have to be so mean? Valentin will be here a while, so you have to get used to it sooner or later. You got on fine with Belgium, remember?"

"I was a kid."

"Alright. I don't want to word it like this, because it's cruel to Valentin, which he does not deserve. If you won't tolerate him for me, at least think that you're keeping Francis from something he wants. Just please, I'm begging you, be nice."

Romano looked a little sheepish. "It might be a little late for that."

"Lovi..."

"I was annoyed! Sure, you might have only been out of Madrid for a week, but I don't know how long you were in Paris. Besides, last time you found a cute, talented boy who did what you said, you tried to swap me for him."

"That was a long time ago, and I regret it massively. Valentin's not here to replace you. He's human, more or less, and France already came close to killing him. The talent that he has is far too valuable to give his _patria_ another chance to kill him. So, will you be nice? A little reluctantly, Lovino nodded.

"In return, tell me. Tell me everything. I know you weren't just there for a few days. How long?"

"Longer than I should have been. England sent me back too far. I had to wait twelve years to come home. I met Valentin after six."

"_Bugiardo monello_! He told me he met you yesterday."

"Lovi, _mi tomate_, he wasn't lying. I used a false identity for years, I had to stay hidden. Just stay calm. Now, first, I need to make sure our guest is educated enough about the modern day that he doesn't end up getting himself killed. Then, I find out who that Etienne Prouvaire really is and get rid of him. Then, little Valentin is safe."

"And we can get rid?" Spain smiled.

"If, by that time, you haven't grown to adore Valentin like everyone else, he can go home. I promise."

Francis didn't want to be stuck with his little hero's friends. It was like wanting a puppy and instead getting a tank of goldfish. They were boring, useless, and a lot of hard work with nothing in return. He could only see one possible upside. Spain may have Valentin and Lovino, but Francis had Jehan Prouvaire, the key to understanding who Etienne really was.

In the morning, when everyone was awake, Francis took them all into the living room, made them sit on the sofa. "All of you, sit still. I swear, if you touch anything in this room, modern technology would make it explode in a fiery inferno. Understand?" Not one of them looked like they believed him, but no-one was willing to take the risk. "Right. I'll tell you what everything does later. First of all, which one of you is Jehan Prouvaire?"

Jehan stood up, looking a little shy. Bahorel glared at Francis. "What do you want with him? He's just a kid."

"I just need to ask him a few things about his brother."

"Why?"

"Oh, for God's sake. Do you ask Valentin as many questions?"

"I trust Enjolras, due to years of working together. And when I have a problem with something he says, yes, I question it. We all do. But since we apparently fought to save you, Enjolras has vanished and you seem to be an arrogant, vain idiot, I see no reason to trust or like you."

"Jehan?" The poet gave a sigh, looking across at Bahorel.

"You're alright. Shout if you need us."

Francis took Jehan through to the dining room. "So what are you? You and your brother."

"I don't understand."

France sighed. "I came back through nearly two centuries of history to find my hero, and when I arrive, I find two non-mortals fighting over him. One was _Espagne_, under the guise of Alexei Orseille. The other was Etienne Prouvaire, and I can sense that he's not human."

"Then why can't you sense that I am? Etienne was adopted before I was born. He was my parents' godson, and his parents died when he was tiny. I've been raised with him as my brother, but there's no blood relation between us. So i'm sorry, but I don't know who he really is."

Francis sighed. "Alright. You can go back and join all your little friends. You lot can look around, but there's a lot of dangerous stuff around that wasn't invented in your day."

"Where are you going?"

"To call in some old favours. I need to get allies together before Spain does. This is going to be a massive war, with Valentin and Lovino right in the middle." Jehan smiled.

"You don't know enough about Enjolras. He doesn't play the damsel in distress very well. He'll be fighting alongside one of you, and it won't be long before he decides which side is right."

"What do you know? You're just a child."

"Perhaps, but I'm a child who knows Enjolras. You insult me and Bahorel so easily, but you don't think. You annoy one of us, and you answer to all. We are the only people who can make Enjolras reconsider when he's made our mind up. We fought for you and freed you from oppression. You could at least show a little gratitude."

"Don't start. I didn't want you here, any of you. I was perfectly happy to leave you in Paris, but England screwed everything up. This isn't how it was meant to happen. I was supposed to take Valentin, get rid of Orseille and your brother, then give him back. You'd never even know he was gone."

"You swear that's the truth?"

"Yes. I have to protect him, my people care too much about him. I've never seen my nation so united, not even in hatred. It's Valentin that's brought them - you - together."

"Maybe we've gotten off on the wrong foot. I know you mean no harm, but it really did take years before Bahorel put any proper faith in Enjolras, and even that was exceptional. We will support you, but you have to prove you're worthy of our faith, and not just putting up with us because you have no other choice. Enjolras is our leader, and we know that he deserves the credit for this. We won't begrudge him that, and we're more than happy to let him stand unopposed in the elections. But he is not the only one who fought."

Francis bowed his head. "Sorry."

"Forgiven. now what do you need? I may only be a poet, but combined, we can help you."

"I need to raise an army. We go against Spain and take back what he stole, and South Italy as penance. Then we go after your brother, and then you can go home."

Jehan smiled. "Then we best get started."

**A/N: The Les Mis movie has screwed up my brain. I cannot stop thinking about Enjolras/Marius. I hated that pairing a month ago, but it seems almost canon in the movie. Also love Matelote. Or is it Mere Huchelop?**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Finally got back to writing this. I've been really busy lately, but I've worked out a lot of this fic... Now I just need to fit the pieces of plot together. It will be done! Oh, and **_**bugiardo monello**_**, from the last chapter, means lying brat, or so Google tells me... I never learnt Italian.**

"OK, I officially don't understand," Enjolras said, slumped in an armchair.

"What don't you understand? I would have thought this whole thing would be rather strange for you," Spain replied, pacing up and down. He was massively fascinated, that he couldn't deny.

"I know things that I didn't know last night, and I don't get it. How do I know what all these things are? How do I know of countries that didn't exist two centuries ago, wars that haven't happened yet, languages I've never spoken?"

"You're not speaking like an oldie anymore, either," Romano pointed out.

"What?"

Spain shook his head. "Ignore him, he's in a bad mood. Though he does have a point. I don't imagine the word 'OK' is commonly used in the nineteenth century."

"So, any idea what happened?"

Spain smiled. He had some idea of what was going on, but he needed some proof. "Romano, ask Valentin some questions that he can't possibly know the answers to for me."

Romano rolled his eyes but obeyed, sinking into a seat opposite Enjolras."Fine. When did Germany form and win over my stupid little brother?"

"1871. Prussia won Alsace-Lorraine in a bet."

"Too easy. When's my birthday?"

"March 17th 1861. The date that you unified with your twin."

"One more. My youngest brother's middle name."

"Romeo. Marcello Romeo Vargas, the principality of Seborga." Romano frowned, glaring at the Spain.

"Alright, so he knows stuff. So what? Is there a point to any of this?"

"Yes. He's subconciously picked all this up from you. You have a psychic ability, you gained it after unification with Veneziano. You're two separate people, but you can share thoughts, emotions, and all that. Some mortals have it, they call it twin telepathy. Without even trying, Valentin has picked up that skill from you and amplified it, picking up thoughts from everyone. That's how he knows all of this." Romano looked stunned for a moment.

"Jesus, Spain, I think you've just said something intelligent."

"I'll try not to be offended by that. Anyway, we need to be serious. There's work to do if I want to keep you both out of Francis's hands. I need to call in some old favours, get some back up and find out who the hell Etienne Prouvaire is. He has a brother, doesn't he? He could help."

"They aren't related by blood, and you left Jehan with Francis. I can try and work it out, given time..."

Romano interrupted. He glared at Spain, standing up and facing him. "What do you mean keep us both out of Francis's hands? What has this got to do with me?"

"Lovi, I'll explain later."

"You will explain now. I'm sick of dealing with Francis, so you better have one hell of a good excuse."

Valentin saw this as the perfect opportunity to leave the room, rather than get involved in the argument. He was determined to find out what was going on, so he and his friends could go home. There had to be something he could research to find out who Etienne was. He found his way into Spain's library, and just picked a book, having no idea where to start. It became hard to concentrate, as Romano's angry shouting became louder. Clearly Spain had admitted that Romano was at risk in their little game. Enjolras knew he wasn't meant to know about the game either, but honestly, he wasn't surprised.

A loud slam of a door caught Enjolras's attention, and he went out into the hall. Romano pushed past him into his bedroom, Antonio following. "Lovi, what are you doing?"

"Packing!"

"What do you mean? Lovino, please, can we talk?"

"No! You know how much I hate Francis, and you still decided to use me in your stupid little games. I'm going back to Italy. You can solve your problems with Francis on your own. I am no longer your territory, and you can't just hand me over. I'm leaving!"

"Lovi, I'm begging you, let me explain..." Enjolras went back into the library. He had a feeling that things were going to get a lot more complicated. After a couple of hours of shouting, on Romano's part, and begging on Spain's, Romano left, heading back to see his brother. He argued with his twin a lot, but it was currently a more desirable option than staying in Spain.

Honestly, he had Antonio at his beck and call. He would do anything to keep Lovino happy. So why was he so determined to keep a mortal, so much so that he'd risk giving Lovino to France? Well, he wasn't going to stick around to find out.

A little after Romano had gone, Antonio came in to see Enjolras. "Sorry you had to hear that." He seemed a little sheepish, and extremely upset.

"It doesn't sound like something new to you."

"We argue, but never like this. He's never stormed out on me before. He's really not happy."

"Because of me."

"Because of a lot of things. He's never liked Francis, and he feels like I've betrayed him. He's probably right. But it's the only way I have the chance to keep both you and him safe."

"Why do I matter? I'm nothing but a human."

"You're more than that. You can do things that other humans can't. I was sent back, not just to get my revenge on Francis, but to bring you to a world meeting. You have an awful lot of power, and most nations don't trust Francis to have control over your power."

"I control myself."

"I don't doubt it, but nations have massive amounts of influence over their people. He can exploit your power."

"If I stay with you, what happens to my friends?"

"I have no say over them. I was only allowed access to you because I was working for all the nations, and I guess they took pity on me. A nation hasn't fallen for a mortal since Francis and Joan of Arc."

"What?"

Romano was fuming at his own stupidity. He'd left his key to his house in Italy. How could he storm out successfully when he was idiotic enough to leave something important behind? And where was that tomato bastard anyway? He heard him talking to the mortal brat in the library. The Spaniard was sat on a table, one hand clutching the blonde's wrist. He was murmuring softly to him, before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his lips.

Lovino bit his lip, resisting the urge to scream. He'd walked out, after all. But... he thought Antonio cared. How could he change his mind so quickly? Or maybe it wasn't quick. He met this boy six years ago. What was to say he hadn't been together with him all that time? And that brat had sworn he wanted nothing from Antonio. As he thought about wringing the boy's neck, he watched as the mortal boy yanked his arm away and pulled free from Spain.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Why are you so shocked? I'm still the same man you met in Paris. You know what I felt about you."

"You were following me to bring me back here, nothing else."

"Do you want the simple explanation or the complex one?" Enjolras cursed, frustrated.

"I don't know! Either. Both."

"Simply, I fell for you. As for complex, you have subconcious defense mechnisms."

"Everyone does. Fight or flight response, right?"

"But it's more than that with you, like everything. You create affection in people, make them want to care for and protect you. It keeps you safe, and is the reason you have two deadly gangs at your beck and call. With some, it just makes them admire you, like your loyal followers in the election. Some, like your friends, it's stronger, created through years of companionship. And some just fall in love with you."

Spain suddenly had the impression he'd wounded Enjolras. "So my friends only care because it's a defence against being attacked."

"No. What you share with your friends is real. Maybe it started with you defending yourself, but that doesn't change that you care about each other. It doesn't change the years you've spent supporting each other."

Hurt was eclipsed by anger. "And what about Romano?"

"Romano?"

"Yes, Romano! Remember him? You love him, and the minute he turns away, you look elsewhere. If you really loved him, you'd try harder to work things out."

"The two of you are so alike. So much fire. But that's not all. You both seem so angry, so fierce, but there's a sweetness in you, a tender fragility that no-one else wants to see."

A stinging slap that made even Lovino wince. "I am not Romano! I'm not fragile, and I'm perfectly willing to tell him that you've been trying to bed me since I was sixteen if you try anything like that again."

Romano flushed an angry red as Enjolras's words sank in. That bloody traitor! But there was something else mixed with the rage. Enjolras wasn't willing to let Spain try anything. Maybe, just maybe, Valentin Enjolras could be trusted.


End file.
